Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2)

by Suzanne Halliday

  “Don’t be upset with me,” she implored, frowning. With a bravery she hoped was real and not just fueled by the liquor, Angie put her hands on either side of his handsome face.

  “Is this the age thing?” he asked.

  “Partially,” she admitted.

  “And . . . ?”

  Dropping her hands, Angie saw something flash in her mind. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “If it relates to this, yes. Don’t change the subject, okay? I need to understand what’s happening in that head of yours.”

  “Oh.” Was she changing the subject? She didn’t think so. Biting her lip, she fidgeted, looking anywhere but at his bared torso, even going so far as to shove her fingers beneath her bum to keep from tracing the definition of his muscular chest.

  “Um, before we get into this, I think I need another drink.”

  Parker’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. She didn’t give him long to ponder her sudden detour thinking that by taking him by surprise, she’d have some sort of advantage.

  Pulling on his arm until he was close enough to touch, Angie bent over and swirled the flat of her tongue on and around one of his nipples. Taking a clumsy pinch of salt between two fingers, she dropped it on the wet spot her tongue left and then thoroughly sucked and licked the area clean.

  Not resting on ceremony, she grabbed the Cuervo bottle and upended a stream of tequila into her open mouth. Sputtering as she swallowed, she slammed the bottle down and scrambled quickly for a lime wedge shoving it into her mouth for relief.

  “Mother of god,” she choked out through her burning mouth as tears blurred her eyes.

  His expression was unreadable. The only thing that indicated he was alive was the fists clenched tightly at his sides and the slight vibration she felt coming off him. Come to think of it . . . he hadn’t so much as taken a deep breath or moved a single muscle since she licked his chest.

  Suddenly whirling away from her, she saw a hand go into his hair and a low, steady rumble come from his mouth. Took her a couple of seconds—in tequila time—to figure out the rumble was actual words being growled. She heard tied up and behave herself and Alex’s name thrown in there but . . . oooh, wait! That was her tequila brain babbling—wasn’t this where, according to the talk around the Villa, her brother tied up his fiancée?

  Taking a sudden interest in the ceiling, she was peering upward, and had completely missed whatever Parker was mumbling when he took her by the arm and gently shook her.

  “Are you even listening?”

  Mmmmm. She liked the growl. Remembered it well. Knees up, angel, and hold on tight. I bet the hooks and hanging rings for the tack were what he tied her to. Oh, look at that! Her shirt was almost completely unbuttoned. Angie sighed and looked at Parker, who was openly scowling at her. Okay, NOW she was starting to feel tequila fuzzy and had to admit her thoughts were a jumbled mess.

  “Ask your question, woman, or by god, Angelina . . . I swear your ass will be bright red when I’m finished with you.”

  What? How the hell had they gone from licking each other’s skin to a spanking?

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” she whined. “You want to spank me?”

  “Oh for god’s sake,” he barked two seconds before yanking her off the table and hauling her ass to sit on the long leather daybed bench. She’d like to imagine she sank gracefully to her seat but knew she actually dropped like a rock and sat there staring up at him, her mouth open, eyes wide.

  Uh-oh. In the low lighting, standing over her bare-chested, eyes blazing—he looked like . . . well, shit. He looked like a dangerously sexy cowboy wearing nothing but a pair of jeans that knew his body well and some boots that for some reason were giving her the swoons.

  “How drunk are you,” he demanded. “Maybe we should do this another time.”

  “No!” she blurted. “I know what I’m saying Parker and being a little drunk only means my fillers are off.”

  “Your fillers?”

  She licked her lips, aware that she had to concentrate when she spoke. “Fill-ters. Filters are off.”

  Without warning, he picked up the tequila bottle and downed a mouthful, his eyes never leaving her.

  “I’m thinking I may need that if we do this sans filters.”

  He might be right.

  She suddenly fell silent. How should she start?

  “I’ll help move this along,” he grumbled. “You’re going to tell me why you think you’re not enough for me and somewhere in that jumbled mess is a question.”

  “Can you sit down, please?” she begged, patting the space next to her. “You freak me out like that.”

  “Like what?”

  An excess of energy, fueled by sexual tension and Cuervo Gold, burst free inside her. She manically shook her hands and pouted. “Oh god, I don’t know.”

  Parker snickered softly but sat next to her.

  It was now or never, she thought. He was halfway smiling—because, as usual, he’d found something to tease her about—and there’d never be a better time to just say it all out loud.

  “You frighten me sometimes,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

  He went absolutely still.

  “I don’t mean I’m afraid. From the very beginning, I felt so young and dumb and . . . and . . .” She paused and frowned, searching for the right words. “Um, unsexy or something. And you, well, you were the one who knew, who had all the experience, and were so matter-of-fact about everything.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know, Parker. That always confused me. And even now, I don’t know what to call that whole weird time. We weren’t dating. It’s not like we were involved. Was it an affair? To say we slept together just sounds tacky but what else was there? I mean, would you even call that a relationship? I felt then and even a little now like a dumb kid that you were teaching the ropes to.”

  He moaned. At least he was listening so she added one last thought to her mini-tirade. “Just like you taught my brother.”

  THERE WASN’T ENOUGH TEQUILA LEFT in the bottle to get him through this conversation, he thought glumly. He’d asked for this years ago. Maybe he didn’t know the actual words she’d use but he knew what was at the core. Had even alluded to it earlier when he admitted he hadn’t treated her right before.

  Everything they did together was a series of firsts for her, but he’d given zero effort or thought to what that meant. There had been no romance. No slow seduction over a carefully planned dinner, never a chance for her to indulge her girly side by taking her out and showing her off someplace where she could dress up and feel special.

  Feel special. What a dumbass motherfucker he was. Never once had he made her feel like a priority. From her standpoint, of course, it must feel like there hadn’t been a relationship at the core of what was going on.

  Oh shiiiit, his mind screamed. Shit, shit, shit. Clarity was a cruel bitch. By tying in her conflicted feelings from before with the knowledge that he’d been something of a mentor for Alex, she’d arrived at a conclusion that pretty much damned his sorry ass to hell.

  Buck up, counselor. Now was not the time for glib so grab your balls, shithead, because that little lady hanging her head like she had anything at all to explain or apologize for had bigger ones than you!

  Lowering his head into his hands, he rested his elbows on his thighs and groaned. He was older and supposed to be smarter, wiser. He had to say something significant. Immediately. Sooner than immediately. And then he had some serious explaining to do.

  “When I made love to you,” he began cautiously, sitting up and angling toward her, “I . . .” He stopped cold at the angry look on her face.

  “Do not call what we did making love. Don’t do that to me, Parker.”

  Whoa. He never wanted to hear that tone again—Angel had teeth. And maybe claws. Okay then.

  He dipped his head to acknowledge her objection and pivoted to a rewording of his previously interrupted statement.

  “Okay, maybe a bit
blunt, but if that’s how this needs to go, so be it. So, the first time we had sex, I was such a fuckwad that until it was too late to change course, I was clueless on the state of your um . . . innocence.”

  He heard a faint intake of breath on her part. “Are you saying you didn’t know I was a virgin?”

  Jesus. Even now, he still cringed at the memory. Didn’t know. Wasn’t prepared. Reacted badly. Fucked her viciously. Guilty.

  “I did not know, to my great shame, by the way. And then once I did, instead of telling you how I felt, well . . . you know.” He shrugged.

  “Said nothing.”

  “Right. I was embarrassed and yeah, I admit . . . my embarrassment trumped your innocence.”

  “Oh.”

  Yeah. Oh.

  “Which brings me to the bullshit you have in your head about me and Alex and all that BDSM crap. You knowing about The Cavern only makes it worse. And honestly, most of it I can’t explain—especially not with half a bottle of tequila in me—but ask yourself this, baby. If I really saw myself as some all-powerful being who just wanted to take and be in control, would I just have admitted to being embarrassed? Don’t you think if that’s all I wanted, you’d be naked and on your knees with my cock buried inside you?”

  “I don’t understand what you want,” she wailed softly. “I can’t just be a sex toy. I need more than that, but you never asked for anything else. Never wanted more than just that.”

  Ouch. That fucking hurt.

  “Fuck, Angie! Don’t you see? We already had all that other stuff. You were closer to me than family. We didn’t have to explore whether we shared interests. Shit. Please tell me you see that. I swear to god it wasn’t just about the sex.”

  Fear, regret, desire, tequila—all roiled in his gut.

  “Tell me what you want,” she pleaded again. “Tell me exactly where you see this going. I’ll always worry I’m not going to be enough unless you spell it out.”

  He wanted to yell and maybe break something. Oh, dear god—she thought she wasn’t enough. What the fuck? She was everything. And all that other stuff? Time to set the record straight.

  “I want you. All of you. No-holds-barred. I want you to speak your mind and be exactly who you are—not someone you think you should be.”

  It bothered him that she had her arms crossed so rigidly that it looked like she was trying to keep from falling apart. But, at the same time, he saw a warmth in her eyes that was enough to keep him talking.

  “Don’t believe all that shit you see in the movies,” he said and then quickly amended the comment. “Actually, I’m wrong. Believe all that shit because it does happen but I promise you—whatever you’re thinking about me and Alex is all wrong. Can I explain, please? About The Cavern, at least?”

  Giving him a shaky nod, Angie sat quietly with a slightly defense in her posture but it was still there.

  “Look, this may sound like a ton of horseshit, but it’s really the simple truth. Ninety-nine percent of anything that happened during that time can be chalked up to one thing . . . Washington. The other one percent was normal curiosity.”

  “You told me once you hated it. All the phoniness.”

  Had he said that? Thank god because maybe having that as a reference she’d listen to what he was trying to say.

  Not able to sit still any longer, Parker lumbered to his feet and moved aimlessly about the room. It helped him think. Like pacing back and forth in front of a jury.

  “What I did there, well. . . . that shit never lets you go,” he told her. “It’s been a couple of years, but that doesn’t keep me from being involved. Still.”

  He was uncomfortable making the statement mostly because he hoped if he didn’t say that stuff out loud maybe it really would just go away. But for guys like him who had been heavily involved on the legal end of the early days of the war on terror, they’d be tied to it forever.

  “In that type of environment, where the reality is so horrific and gruesome that you become numb to it, people tend blow off steam in unusual ways.”

  The time he spent in the nation’s capital had been formative years for Parker professionally. With a little effort, he’d found himself on a fast-moving, inside track. Almost overnight, he was in with the power hitters and superstars—lobbyists, politicians, the FBI, military. With Washington being ground zero for doing everything legally, his sharp mind and impressive verbal skills got him noticed quickly. Everyone wanted to either be his friend or have him as one of their entourage. It was a heady time during which he’d seen history being made first hand. He’d also seen way too up close and personally the darker, grittier side of the power town.

  “The Cavern was a particular favorite of the special ops guys, the security contractors. The badass motherfuckers who didn’t have time for downshifting to hearts and flowers. For them . . . well, it was different. Each time your brother came statewide, he always did a long stay-over in D.C. That’s how either of us even knew about that place, so for real . . . Alex brought me into it. Not the other way around.”

  She snorted and rolled her eyes, but there was the hint of a smile near her lips.

  “Hey! Don’t be hatin’!” he teased. “I coulda’ been blowing rails off some high paid hooker’s ass.” He actually shuddered at the thought. “So a sex dungeon that was all watch and no play doesn’t seem all that bad now, huh?”

  “All you did was watch?” she asked.

  “Yep.”

  Even though half the room was between them, he saw her facial expression shift as she considered what he said.

  “You never . . .”

  “Fuck, no. Angie. Do I seem like a do it in public kind of guy? Or someone who’d find the presence of another dude even remotely okay?”

  Finally, she changed position. Loosened up. Tucking her feet beneath her, she sat on them, her long skirt completing covering her legs. Adjusting the unbuttoned blouse, she pulled her clothes together while he watched.

  The tension of a frown marked her face, but by the time she was buttoned up and had pulled her hair into a single tumble over one shoulder, she looked remarkably less troubled.

  “So that’s not what you want? I always thought because of some of the stuff we did that . . .”

  He cut her off as quickly as he could. “No! And that’s my point if you’d let me finish.”

  She sat back on her feet with a startled flash of shyness.

  “No, that’s not what I want but I see where you’d get that impression. I’m not a dominant,” he growled, making air quotes and saying the word with as much sarcasm as possible. “And I’m not in the market for a submissive. No contracts. No crazy rules. No need to inflict pain. Understand?”

  Parker gritted his teeth—he hadn’t meant to raise his voice. He also broke out the cross-armed, naked chest, feet wide apart stance that generally made mere mortals quake.

  Shaking his head, he muttered, “Shit,” and uncrossed his arms. “Sorry for yelling.”

  “Oh no,” she choked out. “Feel free to yell all you want.”

  What did she say? Go ahead and yell all he wanted? Wait a minute. Parker walked over to the leather bench where she sat perched on her knees to get a good view of her face to try and read her expression.

  What the hell? She was literally bent over in half, her face on her knees, slapping a hand on the leather as her screams of laughter split the air.

  “I’m sorry,” she wailed a bit hysterically as a fresh wave of uncontrollable giggles left her flailing uncontrollably.

  Parker couldn’t help but laugh. She was completely undone with laughter. Full throated, tears rolling down her cheeks, hysterical shrieks that filled up the room with her joy.

  Play-acting with a deep scowl on her face and a comical gruff voice she said, “I like it when you yell and do that caveman thing. Rrrroar!”

  And then she giggled some more. “Especially when you play all badass—try to distract me with the killer chest and are you fucking kidding me jeans.”


  He was grinning like an idiot. Just like that, they were officially too drunk to know what they were doing so no more serious discussion and now that she brought it up, he thought, maybe I should put my shirt back on. The very last thing they needed was a tequila injected sex romp in the Villa tack room to help them navigate this weirdness.

  He bent to pick up the t-shirt and she was suddenly all over him like an eager puppy anxious to play.

  Swaying ever so slightly, she told him emphatically, “You told me what you wanted so now I have to say something . . . about that, I think. I should say something, right?” she asked.

  He nodded solemnly knowing he was egging her drunk ass on.

  “Well, wouldn’t you like to know?” she taunted while he laughed at her inebriated state.

  Straightening as tall as she could muster and with all the dignity of a drunken duchess, she tossed her hair back and stuck her cute little nose up in the air.

  “I may be a lady, sir,” she told him with a weak wristed wave, “but I like it dirty.”

  Parker blinked. Did she say dirty?

  “You did that, you know. Taught me from the start that dirty was what I did best.”

  Once the words were out there, they both froze.

  A freight train of emotion derailed inside his chest. He couldn’t prevent what he said next.

  “Were you dirty with him? That motherfucker you were going to marry?”

  He knew damn well that he shouldn’t have asked—he didn’t have the right, but he didn’t know he was going to say it until the words came out.

  They stared at each other.

  “No,” she murmured softly.

  She wouldn’t look at him, but he saw the deep blush that crept up her neck and across her face. So . . . the smarmy Spaniard hadn’t floated her boat. Interesting.

  “I think we need another drink, don’t you?” he asked. Slinging an arm loosely across her shoulders, he gathered her close for a sloppy hug then pushed her toward the table.

  “Set ’em up woman,” he barked as he swatted her on the ass. Her comical yelp of surprise and the little dancing two-step she did to escape his hand made him laugh.